


Tequila Inspired Purchasing

by softkent (SalazarTipton)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Feels, Prompt Fic, i write yet another fic with jack and kent's jersey i cant be stopped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:34:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8509918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalazarTipton/pseuds/softkent
Summary: Prompt: a Parson jersey that Jack buys online at 3am when he's Emotional that he refuses to throw away but also can't look at directly. - ceramiclemonOr Jack makes a drunk purchase he doesn't remember and instantly regrets it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, citrus babe, for the prompt! I can never get enough of Jack with Kent's jersey. 
> 
> You should go find him on tumblr: [ceramiclemon](https://ceramiclemon.tumblr.com/).

 

Jack didn’t drink often for a lot of reasons. One, if he needed his anxiety medication, he just plain couldn’t have any. Two, with his history and reputation it was usually better to keep a clear head. Three, he didn’t know how much he could trust himself being intoxicated around other people. Jack had a lot he kept hidden from the world and his mouth tended to run when he got alcohol in him. 

 

He thought everything would be okay after a they headed back to the Haus after a solid win. Shitty was hanging off him the whole walk from Faber going on and on about his filthy hands and the plays from the game. Johnson, Holster, and Ransom were all laughing and chirping Shitty, but he didn’t seem to care.

 

“You know what this means, my dudes? Shots!” Shitty said when they reached their front lawn. 

 

“Shots! Shots! Shots!” Ransom and Holster chanted as they opened the door and threw their bags down.

 

“I don’t know, guys. I really have a paper--”

 

“Jack, it’s fucking Friday night! You know you don’t need to write that paper right now. We get if you don’t wanna join in, but, dude, you don’t gotta lie about it,” Shitty said, patting him hard on the shoulder before going in the kitchen to look for the shot glasses. 

 

“It’s just us, Jack,” Johnson said from behind him. 

 

“Fine, but I’m only doing one shot,” Jack relented with a smile. There were various shouts and the guys around him hugged him in some kind of mini celly. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

 

“Right, whatever you say, Cap,” Ransom said with an eyeroll. 

 

Shitty walked into the living room with a stack of shot glasses held between his arm and his chin and a bottle of tequila. 

 

“Why tequila?” Jack asked, but Shitty just laughed. 

 

He sat himself down on the green couch next to Ransom. Holster sat on the floor against his legs as Shitty plopped down in the armchair and lines up the shot glasses and untwisted the cap of the bottle.

 

Jack had his one shot and took on Ransom and Holster in Mario Kart. Johnson took out his laptop and settled on the floor to watch them play. Although the defensemen had more to drink, Jack was still lagging behind by the third course.

 

“Dude, you better get good this round. I don’t wanna have to break the ‘you lose, you drink’ rule for you,” Shitty said as he opened up a can of beer. 

 

Jack knew his Mario Kart skills weren’t the best. Okay, they might be the worst out of all the Haus-mates. He also knew that Ransom and Holster only got better the more they drank. 

 

“I won’t make you break that law, Shits. But I also don’t plan on losing,” Jack said as the countdown started on the screen. 

 

Johnson shook his head and opened his own beer. “You’re digging your own grave, brah.”

 

Two shots later, Jack conceded his defeat. He handed the controller off to Johnson and they switched spots. Jack settled on the floor and looked at Johnson’s laptop screen on the coffee table. 

 

“Didn’t know you were an Aces fan,” Jack said. Johnson shrugged.

 

“It’s hard not to like them when you know they’re going to win the cup again this year. Beside, Parser’s on fire this season,” Johnson said as he picked Waluigi. 

 

“Two years in a row? I doubt that’ll happen, but when isn’t Parson on fire? That man is, like, the best player in the league,” Holster said.

 

“And have you seen his cat’s instagram? Priceless,” Shitty added. 

 

“What does that have to do with his hockey?” Jack asked without looking up from the stream of the Aces game fullscreened on the laptop. 

 

“Nothing, but it’s a bonus just like dat body,” Ransom said as he waited for Johnson to pick the tires for his bike. “I hope he does the Body Issue sometime soon. Those little clips from Aces TV are just not enough.”

 

Johnson laughed and finally made his final choice and picked the course.

 

“Oh, dude! Why you always gotta pick one with rainbow road? Nobody likes rainbow road!”

 

Jack picked up Johnson’s beer and took a swig. He watched the game on the laptop instead of the one being played on the television. The Aces were down two to the Oilers late in the third. It didn’t look good. He didn’t notice the looks his friends shot him as he muttered under his breath at the screen. 

 

The time ran out and the buzzer sounded. The cameras showed the Oilers’ celly for a second before it panned over to Parson’s face. His mouth was in a hard line as he skated over to his goalie. He touched helmets with him. Then, it switched to showing a replay of the final shot of the game.

 

Jack looked up to see they had made it to rainbow road, but the only one able to stay on the track for more than a few seconds was Johnson, who was in first. 

 

“Good game tonight, guys,” Jack said as he stood up and stretched. “I’m off to bed.”

 

“You’re such an old man and I love you,” Shitty said from where he was almost hanging upside down off of the chair. “It’s barely past midnight.”

 

“Who won?” Holster asked without looking away from the T.V.

 

“Oilers, 4-2.”

 

“Ouch,” Ransom said. “You still think they’re getting the cup this year? OH, COME ON! You’re really going to greenshell me?”

 

Holster laughed as his Princess Peach zoomed past Yoshi. 

 

With everyone’s attention back on the game, Jack picked up the bottle of tequila and poured himself another shot. Shitty caught his eye and gave him a look, but didn’t say anything. 

 

Up in his room, Jack got into his clothes for bed with minimal stumbling. He had forgotten that his tolerance was shot from rarely drinking anymore. He climbed into bed and settled in with his laptop on his thighs.

 

He opened a Word document to start his paper, but only got as far as the header before he wandered over to YouTube. Under his recommended videos, there was an old locker room interview with Kent. Jack clicked on it.

 

Kent’s cowlick was poking out over the strap of his snap back and the rest of his hair peeked out at the sides. Jack can’t remember ever seeing his hair so long. His skin was as tan as it was the summer before the draft and although the camera wasn’t too close to his face, Jack could make out the splattering of freckles on his nose that bled out to his cheeks. 

 

He was answering a question about his thoughts on becoming captain when a sock came in from off screen and hit him in the forehead. Jack noticed the ache in his chest when he caught himself smiling and laughing along with Kent when he chucked it back across the room. 

 

Jack clicked on a video in the sidebar from the NHL’s channel and ends up going through half of their entire Puck Personalities playlist. He recognized everyone’s names and faces. He’d always focused on how a man played, not how the media portrayed him--Jack was all too familiar with how out of wrong the media could be. Jack ended up scrubbing through the videos for Kent’s parts.

 

Jack already knew some of Kent’s answers. He’d told Jack all about his mom dressing him up as a ‘small fry’ when he was younger for Halloween after they got back from a party; he’d told Jack about his sudden fear of straws after watching The Hangman’s Curse with him on a roadie. 

 

Jack tried not to let the answered he hadn’t expected or known pang in his chest. He hadn’t been in Kent’s life for years now. It shouldn’t surprise him that there were some things he didn’t know. Hell, Jack knew  _ he’d  _ changed and experienced so much without Kent. So, it only made sense that Kent had too. 

 

He slammed his laptop closed, got out of bed, and trotted down the stairs. Shitty and everyone were still in the living room, but had moved onto playing Super Smash Bros. The bottle of tequila looked a little lighter.

 

“Up for another round?” Jack asked as he picked up the bottle. 

  
  
  
  


About a week later, Jack got back from class and walked into the Haus to find Johnson sitting on the couch with his homework. He nodded to him. 

 

“Package for you. It’s in the kitchen,” Johnson said with a sad smile. 

 

“Oh, thanks,” Jack replied. 

 

He went to the kitchen with a confused expression. Jack hadn’t ordered anything, nor did Maman say she was sending him anything. There, sitting on the counter, was the plastic bag of an Amazon package. Maybe Johnson had just confused it for his. He checked the label: Jack Zimmermann.

 

After taking the stairs two-at-a-time and throwing down his backpack, Jack tore open the plastic, pulled out the dark fabric, and dropped it. He closed his eyes and took in a few grounding breaths. He bent down to pick up the jersey and walked over to sit on the edge of his bed. 

 

He unfolded the fabric, but he already knew what the back would say, what number it would be: Parson #90. Jack scrubbed a hand down his face. He got up quickly, opened his closet, and threw the jersey in without looking before he slammed the door shut and slide down to the floor against it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think in the comments. Kudos are greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Also, feel free to come chat with me or send me prompts or whatevs on my check please blog: [softkent](http://softkent.tumblr.com/).


End file.
